


Delicate

by liwellen



Series: Pound of Flesh [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liwellen/pseuds/liwellen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes,” you heard him say. “It’ll always be yes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicate

Your life was nowhere near what you had planned it out to be.

You had imagined packing your bags and leaving for college without a backward glance. No tears. No goodbyes. But when it came down to it, you found yourself carved into the bones of a boy who was never going to leave Henrietta - and he was just as much seared into yours.

So you came back more often than you really ought to, even though you should have spent those long hours in the library instead of pinching your wallet for gas on the road.

You told yourself that it was the lull of Cabeswater, but when you caught sight of Ronan waiting for you at the end of the driveway as you pulled up to the Barns, you knew that it was a lie.

Somehow in those four years when you should have been caught in the motion of moving away, Henrietta was redefined as home instead.

 

* * *

 

The distance was never easy, and college made it even harder for hope to sustain. Relationships were fickle-minded things, and you saw tattered hearts scattered all over the stained dormitory hallways.

Your first roommate was a thorn in your side - a painful romantic who grew up with the notion that he could only be whole when he found his other half. Every girl was The One, and he was always proclaiming that he was _in love_.

The word was starting to lose all meaning to you.

If love was your roommate getting pissed after breaking up with someone over the phone, or the quiet fear your mother had harbored for your father as she told you to stay quiet about the blood on your face, then you wanted no part of it.

You would choose what you had with Ronan instead.

You never called it love. It was something weightier. Something earned. Ronan patiently taught you that you were worthy, and you wordlessly showed him how to lay aside his sword.

The line was blurred between _his_ and _mine_ , and that was something that you never knew would happen in this lifetime. You moved into the Barns after graduation, and before you knew it, you were doing his taxes along with yours. From then on, there was only _ours_.

If you had to give it a name, you would call it something better than love.

 

* * *

 

You were jolted awake one Saturday morning by something wet on your hand.

You had to squint in the light that streamed through the window, and you allowed yourself a brief moment of annoyance at Ronan for forgetting to shut the curtains again.

Then you finally took in the ball of fur in Ronan's arms.

It was hardly the first time Ronan had brought something back from his dreams while sleeping at your side, but this was the first time that something  _moved_.

“No,” you groaned into the pillow, and kicked him under the covers.

You watched as he cracked open his eyes. Voice hoarse as it always was in the morning, he mumbled, “What?”

You stared pointedly at the brown puppy in his arms, and said, “Seriously?”

It wasn’t as if Ronan lacked animals in his life. In fact, ever since he had managed to wake all of his father’s slumbering objects and somehow made them his instead, the barn was full of life. Ronan even took to handling the farm with minimal help.

You had never thought you would see him in dirt and grime, but apparently it was a different story when it was _his family’s_ dirt and grime.

The puppy squirmed out of Ronan’s hold and started licking your hand again even as you tried to move away. “Look,” he drawled. “It already likes you.”

You would never admit it, but that was a relief, given how long it took for Chainsaw to warm up to you. So you sighed, “Fine.”

After a short pause and more licking from the dog, Ronan said, “I’m naming it Plot Line.”

“No,” you answered, vehemently, but you knew from the smirk on his face that you had already lost.

Plot Hole appeared two days later, but this time, you did nothing more than shoot Ronan an exasperated look. Somehow you ended up being the one to take the dogs out for their walk, and feeding them became second nature.

When the two of you noted how fast they seemed be growing, Ronan’s arms held Plot Twist the next day. You didn’t realize what you were doing until you were at the store, getting a leash and an extra bowl for the dog.

You stood cursing at the empty sidewalk when it finally hit you.

 

* * *

 

Even with the edges softened, the fight between you both could only be subdued, but never snuffed out.

Though you tried getting used to it, you were still constantly burnt out from your routine, which consisted of waking up early to get to the office outside Henrietta and reaching the Barns later than you should at night. It was harder than expected for you to handle Cabeswater and your job at the same time.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the darkness under your eyes made Ronan lash out, and his callous remarks about your career made you flinch. One night it got to the point where Ronan stormed out of the door, and you tried to quell your panic. After all, you were in his family home. He had to come back sometime soon.

And so, you fell asleep waiting for him at the kitchen table.

It was the scratching of his keys that made you jerk awake, and you pretended that you hadn't been up all night waiting for him when he walked in, all roughed up from a fight.

Forgiveness came in the form of you carefully picking out pieces of glass from his bruised knuckles, and him dreaming you things that you would keep because they did not cost a thing.

You started to cut back on your hours in the office even though you knew it would hurt your chances of making partner, and he always left a note telling you where he had gone.

 

* * *

 

It was a cool evening when you were lying on the couch with the phone pressed against your good ear. It had been a slow day at work, but exhaustion still curled around your ribs.

Gansey was rambling on the other line, trying to talk himself out of asking Blue to move in with him even though you had assured him countless times that she would say yes. You weren’t being presumptuous: Blue had figured it out a week ago, and had asked you about it herself. You were surprised when she did, but eventually you chalked it up to the simple fact that the two of you were dating someone who could afford to burn a hundred dollar bill without feeling any loss.

But, of course, you weren’t going to tell Gansey about that.

You were looking at Ronan, who had settled in front of the fireplace. He appeared to be devoting his attention to the dogs instead of Chainsaw for once, and you watched him tease Plot Line and Plot Hole by throwing a tennis ball in the air and then catching it, again and again. He seemed oblivious to how Plot Twist was shuffling behind his back, eager to join, but was pushed aside by the bigger dogs as usual. So you snapped your fingers as you gave a non-committal grunt at whatever Gansey was on about now; Plot Twist caught the sound and trotted over immediately, while the other two continued to stare at the source of their pure, animalistic joy.

At the same time, Ronan paused in motion. With one arm still stretched in the air, he watched you brush a hand through Plot Twist’s soft fur.

 _Come here_ , you mouthed.

He raised an eyebrow, and looked amused. When you repeated the words again, he finally left the tennis ball to the mercy of the two hell hounds and crossed the room. His eyes never left yours as he moved to sit at the foot of the couch, watching you. Always watching you.

You made a noise of assent to the phone, and then pressed your lips to his shoulder. He immediately grasped onto your hair lightly as you moved up his neck. Slowly. Slowly. You felt his laboured breath when you moved close to his lips, but at the last moment, you drew away.

It couldn’t be helped when you smirked, of course.

He was annoyed to say the least. You watched him swear and rip the phone out of your hand. “Don’t call back,” he told Gansey, then threw it aside, but not hard enough to cause any damage.

You gave as good as you got when he crawled over you and kissed you hungrily. Your fingers held tightly onto him, and whatever exhaustion you previously felt seeped out of your skin, only to be replaced by a very much welcomed hum of anticipation.

There was only one recurring thought in your mind as his hands moved under your shirt. Ronan himself had said the very words a few times before, and you thought about how you might be brave enough someday to return the sentiment.

Little did you know, all it took was a storm and a burnt fuse for you to finally tell him.

 

* * *

 

You were twenty-six when you were in Cabeswater with his mother. Somehow, over the years, Aurora Lynch became the maternal figure you had needed your entire life.

“I know that look on your face,” she told you.

Casually, you asked, “Do you?”

She said nothing, but smiled and kissed your forehead like a blessing. Even though you knew nothing much about blessings, you closed your eyes and chose to accept it.

After dinner, you stopped Ronan before he could move to get a bottle of his customary drink for the night.

He tried to mask his surprise when you brought his hand to your lips, hoping that he could feel the reverence you were trying to convey. Before he could say anything, you let yourself breathe out what you had been meaning to ask for a long time now: “Marry me?”

Ronan was visibly startled by those words. You knew he would be, but you still couldn’t help how your heart raced, and your grip on his hand turned tight, thinking that this may or may not be the last time you were allowed to do this.

Then his lips were against yours, and you felt a rush of relief. His eyes were squeezed shut when you both finally broke apart.

“Yes,” you heard him say.

When his eyelids fluttered open, there wasn’t a language that existed in this world which could describe what you saw was written on his face.

“It’ll always be yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best, I'm afraid.
> 
> The names of the dogs were inspired by Maggie's tweets.
> 
> Engagement idea from [Than Our Gentle Sin by blindmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306509). 
> 
> Title from [an old song](https://youtu.be/VnL3NfhOsBM) by Damien Rice.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://yourladysansa.tumblr.com).


End file.
